


When It Turns to Spring Again

by Hornet394



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/M, Historical Hetalia, I Tried, Soviet Union, feels in general
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:21:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5161958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hornet394/pseuds/Hornet394
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the next spring until Lithuania declared independence from the Soviet Union, but he was long gone before that. Belarus and Lithuania, from the days when she was just a child and him just a teenager to the fall of the Iron Curtain. Allegorical allusions to history and torture.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When It Turns to Spring Again

**Author's Note:**

> My attempt at writing historical Hetalia, Belarus and Lithuania centric. More notes at the end to explain it all.

_Mianie kličuć Bielarusi._

Her white dress was now torn and bloodied, and she winced with every lash of wind on her bleeding wounds.  She struggled to walk through the snow but she had to move, or the frost would bury her alive.

_Mianie kličuć Bielarusi._

She shook her head frantically, but it did not clear her ice-riddled mind or her cloudy vision.  She wanted to cry but it was too cold for tears to leak out.

How she wished for her sister’s scarfs!  

The tattered white bow in her hair had long disappeared, her silver tresses hanging free into her face, dragging into the snow.

_Mianie kličuć Bielarusi._

Her feet hit something hard and she fell, snow seeping into her thin attire.  She crawled up again and continued to stumble through the snow.

She had no idea where she was going.  

_Mianie kličuć, Bielarusi._

She had been with her siblings, but suddenly the Kieven Rus’ had been dissolved and her brother and sister had disappeared just like that, without warning.  She had woken up in the morning and couldn’t find them anymore.  And then the house had fell down, collapsing.  All her other Slavic cousins were gone, she was the only one trapped in the debris.  

She died for the first time.

There was no time for crying as she pushed her way out of the stone, her hands scratched and bloody.  Her body was extremely tired after the entire ordeal, and the falling flakes merely added to the weight of the wooden boards.  With trembling hands she readjusted the bow on her head again and scrambled out of the mess, collapsing on the snow, chest heaving.

She was terrified.

She had no idea where she was.  As matter of fact, she didn’t think that she was in her own land.  She couldn’t feel her people, couldn’t feel the snow-laden shrubs, couldn’t feel her heartbeat.

_Bielarusi_ , She repeated.  She couldn’t forget who she was.

The name wasn’t her’s, of course.  She had no name, she was merely part of the Slavic family residing under the roof of Kieven Rus’.  No one had a name.  Brother was brother and Sister was sister, and anybody else was Someone.  She didn’t care, nor had she had to care.   _Bielarusi_ was a name that her sister had cheekily called her once.

_Bielarusi_ , she repeated.  She couldn’t forget it.

Her exposed neck was stiff from the wind, the crusts of blood hanging to her legs.  How she longed for her siblings right now, and her brother’s warm scarf.  It had been taken from him by Kieven’ Rus.  She wondered where it was now, and wondered where her siblings were.

Her eyelids were heavy.

She had to be hallucinating.

A shadow zipped past her view through the rapid snow.  

A weight crashed into her, and before she lost consciousness, she fervently hoped that she wasn’t dying again.

* * *

 When she came to, she was lying not in the snow, but on a hard wooden surface.  She lifted herself up from the makeshift bed, and found herself in a stone chamber.  She sighed and resigned herself to another few hundred years of being subjugated.  The stone felt icy cold to her bare feet.  Adjusting her tattered white dress, she tried to peek over the tall window.  Snow fell.

Footsteps alerted her to the arrival of her captor, of her new master.  She desperately wished that this master was not the sickly man Kieven Rus’ had grown to be as she and her siblings had grown older.  The door opened, and a teenager almost as old as her brother peeked his head in, puppy by his legs.  She deduced that it was the dog who had found her.  “You’re awake,” the boy said, his lukewarm green eyes shining.  A steaming bowl of borscht was in his hands.  She did not respond.  “I’m Lithuania,” he continued, speaking in her language, paying no heed to her lack of dialogue, “You’re in my house, and I believe that you’re the newest addition, and actually will be living here, my boss said,” Lithuania continued, “Will you tell me your name?”  He set the bowl down on the bedside table.

“Bielarusi.” She automatically said.  A confused look spread across the other’s face.  “That’s not East Slavic,” he said cautiously, “I’m not exactly sure what language that was.”

“It is my name,” she hissed angrily, already disliking this brat who dared to call himself her lord, “My sister gave it to me.”

Lithuania smiled again. "Well then, Bielarusi," he pronounced the name carefully, like it was a delicate piece of glass, "Welcome to your new home."  She strangled him, and blue reached his face but his self-assured smile never disappeared.

Lithuania's home, she later learnt, was far smaller than she had been used to when living with Kieven Rus'. It was empty as well, and as silent as Kievan Rus' house.  There was only one other boy living in the house, a small boy who almost looked like a baby, with curly blonde hair and wide brown eyes.  She glared at him every time they crossed paths, she being slightly taller than him.

Lithuania already seemed to be a Grand Duchy, despite his calm and short stature, and she rarely sought him out. He did, though, always eating with her in that big house and insisted on cooking for her, and the young boy, even when he had piles and piles of paperwork to do.  He took care of their every need, and did all the chores, despite the fact that they, as the conquered, should have done so for him.

Every night, he came to her room.  Sometimes if she didn’t want to entertain him, she would pretend to be asleep.  But if she did so, he would come and wake her an hour earlier in the morning, avoiding her punches.  He taught her his language, teaching her phrases in Lithuanian.  She supposed she had no choice but learn, but she did not feel any need in that.

She distrusted him.

Who knew what malice brew behind those shining eyes?  

* * *

Although Lithuania’s house was so empty, it became truly solitary soon after. Lithuania, she learned, had married to one of the most annoying empires in the planet.  Poland was his name, Lithuania said apologetically one dinner to her, and the two of them would be alternating every half a year between Lithuania’s house and Poland’s house.  “I won’t bring you,” Lithuania said, “You won’t like it there.”

She bit her lip but did not protest.  The brat was going, she wanted to say.  “Whatever you say.”  She said instead.  “Don’t burn the house down,” Lithuania joked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.  The brat was quivering in excitement, wolfing down his food with no dignity whatsoever.  She grimaced and slammed the brat’s face into his bowl.

The next day, she watched out of the window as Lithuania and the brat mounted the carriage this Poland fellow had provided for them.  He stared up at her window once, and she gave a small wave.  He smiled then, a confident quirk of his lips.  It caught her off guard.  

She threw a chair out of the window.

* * *

It was lonely without any sound whatsoever in the house.  The corridors looked so much longer and sinister, and the days colder.  She exhausted herself in the library, and spent the days exploring the mansion.  Lithuania’s subordinates dropped by from time to time to check on her, but she ignored them all, despite the fact that she craved the attention.  It was nice to see them get exasperated over her nonchalant behavior, and extremely satisfying to see them lose their cool and shout at a girl who looked no more than twelve.  Honey-sweet words were not her forte, not a tactic that she could compromise with at this point.

She couldn’t reach the kitchen counter originally, but Lithuania had lined the floor of the kitchen with bricks.  She wasn’t used to sleeping in late now, but her early morning wakings only caused her to become more bored as time flew past.  Often she found herself cooking to herself, experimenting with the food that was sent to the house regularly, before it spoilt.  The only downside was that her child fingers were unaccustomed to wielding the heavy cooking blades, which were terribly inconvenient when she wanted to throw the blades.  Yes, throw the blades.  She supposed she needed a weapon anyways, so why not pick the knives?  She favoured it over Lithuania’s sword, anyways.  

When she ran out of few Ruthenian and East Slavic books in the library, she was forced to turn to the Lithuanian books that filled the majority of the atheneum.  She hadn’t paid enough attention in her language lessons to read any of them fluently, save a few picture books.  She burnt them.

Luckily, Lithuania had left some self-made translation books and dictionaries in the center of the library.  How he read her mind, she did not know.

Spring melted and the rain came, filling the days with monotonous gaping as the droplets splattered across the cold, hard stone.  The mansion now bore no secrets that interested her.  With the water came reports of flooding, of destruction and of chaos.  She wondered why these reports weren’t sent to Lithuania in Poland’s house, but she did it for him.  It was in preparation for when she gained her own independence, so she did it gratefully and efficiently.  Surely it would make her grow up faster.  Her fourteen year old body struggled to deal with the complexity of the Lithuanian, and she had to refer back to Lithuania’s dictionaries sooner than she liked.

One day in early Autumn, when she was having a dream of her handling some reports wrong, she was awoken suddenly to sparkling green eyes.  She sat up immediately, gasping in terror.  Lithuania jumped back, just in time to avoid her head smashing into his.  “Rise and shine, Bielarusi!”  He said happily, “I’m back!”  She punched him in the face, causing him to stagger.

Her elation faded as soon as she realised something.  

At the table the brat was happily talking with a blonde stranger at the table, in her usual seat opposite of Lithuania.  He had a new red military suit, which fitted him illy.  “... nice, like, totally!” the intruder was exclaiming in a high voice.  The brat was laughing along, his eyes crinkling up in a line.  

Lithuania emerged from the kitchen then, holding a pot of steaming borscht.  “I figured we’d go with something familiar today,” he said warmly, sitting down in his seat.  “Poland, come sit next to me.”

“But, but, I wanna see your face when I’m eating!” this Poland protested.  Her lips curved slightly downwards.  “That’s Bielarusi’s seat, Poland.”  Lithuania said gently.  Finally the blonde realized her presence and jumped up excitedly.  “Liet!  Why didn’t you bring her!  Such a pretty girl!” he gushed.  “Sit down and have breakfast,” Lithuania frowned.  

Satisfied, she took her seat and even spared a smile for the brat, causing him to shiver involuntarily.  The steaming soup flowed down her throat.

She wouldn’t admit it, but she craved his cooking.

After the meal, the brat was charged to bring Poland around to investigate, while she volunteered herself silently to help with the dishes, as she usually did.  As Lithuania passed her one of the bowls, he said quietly, “Excellent work with the reports, Bielarusi.  I’m proud of you.”

Her mouth closed in a grim line.  “What is it?” he asked, unfazed.

“What is marriage?”  She finally said after a few moments.  “What is marriage to people like us?”

Lithuania paused, too, pondering carefully.  “We marry, when we want to be united with another country.  When we want to express our love for that country and protect that country.”

“You love him?  You love Poland?”

Lithuania laughed and put a hand on her head, ruffling it.  “You’re so cute, Bielarusi!”

She broke his hand.

“I have something for you,” he said, “I think you’ll like it.”

* * *

 It, turned out to be a dress of her place.  A deep blue dress with long sleeves, white cuffs and collar, and a white apron worn over the waist.  A new white ribbon also lay there.  “You should try it,” Lithuania said gently, and left her with the dress.

The dress hung comfortably on her developing body, hugging her nonexistent curves.  She chose grey stockings and black leather shoes to complete the look, fidgeting in front of the mirror.  

Finally she stepped out of the room hesitantly, and into the dining area.  Only Lithuania was there, feeding his old dog (not the first one she had seen, of course, but this would be the last of Lithuania's pets for many centuries to come).

Coughing slightly, she caught her lord's attention, who turned around immediately. "Well?" She snapped.  A smile bloomed over his face.  "You look absolutely lovely, Bielarusi."  She felt her face heating up and she quickly turned away, adjusting the bow on the top of her head.

“I’ll tell Poland to buy you more dresses than.”  Lithuania said smoothly, turning back to the old dog.  Her face dropped.  “Don’t bother.”  She snarled, and stormed back to her room.

“Bielarusi?”  He called after her, but she ignored him.  

Her leather shoes clicked against the stone floor, a constant clattering resonating in the corridor.  She flung her wooden door open.  

Throwing herself onto her hard-worn mattress, she almost missed the hard, flat package lying innocently on her bed.  However the corner of the gift nudged into her hip, causing her to sit back up and run her fingers along the coarse wrapping.  

_Thought you’d like it._

It wasn’t signed, but she recognized the handwriting.

Ripping open the present, a set of throwing knives innocently lay in the box.  

Reverently running a hand over the blades, she lifted one up.  It was light in her hands.  She couldn’t wait to try them out.

* * *

Every spring, Lithuania, the pansy, and the brat were gone, leaving her again.  She was glad.  She threw herself back into Lithuania’s work, even going as far as making certain decisions for him.  She was sure he would thank her for it.

She was used to the silence and desolation in the manor again, and absolutely loved to see the old and haggard faces of the mortals who were once young and snobbish to her, while she grew to be more and more of a woman every day (she made certain that her assets were filling out quite well).  The men were very gracious to share with her things that happened to Lithuania, either by her cold tone or by her blades.  But she made sure to know things that she did not know, hidden in the safe prison of Lithuania’s manor.

Lithuania, she understood, was at war.  That much she had gathered from the reports - but the reports only mentioned to her how taxing it was on the coffers, not the scale of war.  The Polish-Lithuanian Commonwealth was at war.

She knew nothing of war.  Kieven Rus’ had possessively hid them all in his mansion, refusing to show to them the realities of horror.  Only her brother had experienced war, but he did not tell them about it, and she did not pry.  Her brother was such a mysterious figure, and she wouldn’t trade him for any other sibling in the world.

Her sister, on the other hand, was highly terrified of war.  As the oldest nation of the siblings, she had strangely not went through any war personally (all the wars were fought for her by someone else), but panicked at the slight mention of the bloody affair.  Sometimes, she didn’t really look up to her big sister.

A few months into winter, just as she was carrying a crate of potatoes from the storage room to the kitchen, the brat returned.  Alone.  “Where is Lithuania?”  She snapped angrily at him.  She towered over him.  “W... war,” he stuttered out.  “Conquests.”  She huffed angrily once and moved to walk past him to the kitchen, but he stood in her way.

He fidgeted in front of her.  “Get out of the way.”  she snarled.

“I- Lithuania- um-”

She slipped one of her throwing knives from her sleeves and casually trapped it against the box and her palm.  She was impatient, and she had training to do.  She still couldn’t hit the target right in the center at every throw, and she needed to improve her skills when she got out of this place.

He squeaked, his hair quivering at its very ends.

“There will be someone living here tomorrow and Lith wants you to make a room suitable for her.”  The brat said.

She snorted once again, and made to move away, but then stopped.  “Mind doing me a favour?”  She smiled chillingly.

The brat squeaked again.

“Carry these to the kitchen for me, will you?”  She slammed the crate onto his head, then stepped over his limp body, turning away to the staircase that lead to the guest rooms.

She picked the room closest to hers (she had no desire to walk any further) a drab, chilly room with a empty hearth.  The woods were peeling away from the bed.  Shaking some sheets onto the bed, she allowed whoever it was to make her bed by herself.  She didn’t have the time.

Leaving the room in a huff, she watched as the brat dragging the broken crate to the kitchen, sneering slightly at his small stature.  He wouldn’t grow the way she was growing now, and would forever stay a kid in Lithuania’s eyes.

* * *

The guest did not stay long, and she herself was the reason why.

She had prepared a room for her sister.

Her sister had grown, and now went by the name of Ukraine.  Ukraine was slightly taller than her, but Ukraine was still the crybaby she remembered her sister as.  Ukraine hugged her and cried over her dress when they reunited, but she did not return the gesture.  Hugging were for children, and she was no longer one.  

Lithuania and the brat seemed to be intimidated by the way Ukraine had matured into, and always looked down on the ground when talking to her sister.  She didn’t like it.  Poland, on the other hand, immediately got along with Ukraine.  She wondered why.  She was glad, though.  Lithuania spent most of his time avoiding Ukraine, and Poland was spending all his time with Ukraine, so Lithuania often sought her out when he needed company.  More than often she broke him, but he still returned to her.

However this pain and pleasure was short-lived.

It started with when Lithuania and Poland went to war again, this time spanning years.  From what she gathered, they were outnumbered, and their marriage was being threatened.  The brat was worried.  She?  Not so much.  Even as the brat incessantly babbled on about the enemies their lords were facing this time, she tuned him out.  She was sure that Lithuania would return victorious - there was no other option.  She did not even bother to silence him.

However one night, a constant, polite knocking roused her from her sleep.  Simply clad in her white sleeping gown, she went to the entrance hall.  She frowned.  No one ever went out of Lithuania’s house, Lithuania and Poland wouldn’t knock, and all the mortals did not come in through the front door.  Who was it, then?  

She did not recognize the man standing in front of her, not at first glance.  “Sestra!”  The man exclaimed.  

Her throwing blades immediately slipped into her hands, as she took a step backward.  “Who are you?”  She hissed in East Slavic.  The man seemed to cock his head to a side, before smiling childishly at her and responding (equally in East Slavic), “Why, Bielorussia, do you not remember me?  I am Russia!”

Her eyes narrowed, but her stance slipped.  “Brother?”  She whispered, uncertain of herself.  The man had white-blonde hair, just like her brother.  His violet eyes were equally as vibrant.  His smile was identical, one filled with childhood innocence and dreams.  His scarf...

“I have come to take you and Ukraine home, sister,” he said.  “Lithuania and Poland has lost to me, and now you can go home!”

He extended a gloved hand to her.  “Come on Bielorussia, bring me to our sister, and then we can go home!”

“Home?”  She whispered.  For such a long time Lithuania’s manor was her home and she never got out, never, Lithuania’s house was home and when Lithuania was not home she had to safeguard his home, their home, what is going on?

“Yes, Bielorussia,” Russia said, “Home.”

She slid her knives into her sheaths, and took Russia, like a child welcoming another into her threshold, led him into the cold stony walls.

Ukraine cried again, her assets mashing into Russia’s neck.  “Oh my little Russia, my little White Russia, we are finally together again!”  Russia hugged her one handedly, the other grasping her hand tightly, as if she was going to leave him and return to Lithuania.

As Belarus finished changing into her blue dress, packing, Russia came over.  “The ribbon in your hair is dirty, sestra,” he said, “Let me remove it for you.” His gloved hand grew nearer to her head and she shied away.  “I will do it myself, brother,” she said, her voice shaking slightly.  The white ribbon had been pure as snow the last time she had looked into the mirror.  Russia sighed from behind her.  “Are you okay, Bielorussia?  You don’t look well.  You’ve grown into such a pretty girl.”

“I am as good as I can be, brother.” She replied flintily.

When the siblings went outside, she and Ukraine dragging their heavy possessions with them, a carriage was waiting among the hedges.  With a pang of regret she saw Poland’s prized ponies harnessed to the deep oak, whinnying unhappily.  She did not like any animal in particular, but Lithuania always talked about Poland’s horses in a fond light.

Russia opened the door for her, and the driver, battered, bruised, and bandaged, took the girls’ bags to put them in the back.  Ukraine gasped in recognition and the waterworks leaked out from her eyes again.  She could not spare the driver a second glance.

* * *

Time passed quickly in Russia’s house.  It was slightly bigger than Lithuania’s house, but it was warm and cozy, with a fire constantly burning in the different hearths in the house.  The cold couldn’t permeate this fortress Russia had built.  Inside here, she didn’t know whether it was spring, or summer, or autumn, or winter, and there were no windows to indicate.  Soft padding and cushioning covered the entire house, with beautiful oak and vibrant golds and reds adorning the corridors and stairs.  It was twice as gorgeous and twice as glamorous as Lithuania’s house.  She couldn’t think of any reason why she preferred Lithuania’s house to this.

It was interesting, to see the conquestor become the conquered.  But Lithuania hadn’t acted like any master before - she wasn’t sure who was serving who.  But in here, it was clear who was the superior and who was the subordinate.  Russia crushed the brat under his thick hands, crushing the kid’s skull.  There was another blonde man, one with metal frames perched on the bridge of his nose, who got along with Ukraine quite well, so Russia mainly left him alone.  But Russia enjoyed tormenting Lithuania the most, the once great Duchy crumbled to pure ash in Russia’s hands.

Nations come and went, and the next century passed by her in a blurred motion.  

Technology improved and fashion improved, and gradually more and more nations emerged into existence.  She and Ukraine heard rumours of a Great War happening somewhere west, but Russia locked down the gates as he rode to war.  

He returned, when fire fell down with the winter snow and he returned, ashen white, tear tracks down his face, and he looked less like the great nation that had enslaved her but more like the elder brother that he was.  She wanted to protect him.  She cared for him, he was her family.  She wanted to save him.

“Brother?”  She said one day, in front of Ukraine and the Baltics.  “Da?’ he smiled at her.  Sometimes she thought he didn’t know her, didn’t understand her.  They had spent too many years apart.  Were they siblings any more?  “Brother, marry me.”

Everyone fell silent.  “Excuse me?”  her brother asked faintly.  She grasped his shoulders, forcing him to face her.  “Marry me.”  She repeated firmly.

“Miss Belarus, wha-” Estonia started but Lithuania shushed him, all colour drained from the brunette’s face.  Her brother seemed to be uncomfortable as well, but she knew exactly what her brother was lacking.  This time, she would show him that she loved him, that she wanted to protect him.

* * *

Then the Second Great War came and her brother gleefully announced that he was building a new house.  She frowned.  “Marry me, brother,” she said venomously, “And then we can move in together.”  He hid his face in his new red scarf (he had discarded the old one as per his boss’ commands, but she knew that Ukraine had hidden it).  “It’s for our comrades, da?”  His voice was on the verge of trembling.  She scowled and tugged on her own red scarf.  Why couldn’t he see that she loved him?

Soon after, he started to spend time in that house, leaving the rest of the Soviet Union alone in Moscow.  She knew about the electronic spying devices, and knew about the men living in the buildings surrounding them.  It was because he loved them, she said to herself and the other inhabitants of the manor vehemently, and soon he would realize that she loved him equally.

“But little White Russia,” Ukraine cried, “We can’t get out of the house and see our friends anymore!”  Latvia nodded rapidly, missing the frightened gazes of Lithuania and Estonia.  She snarled and sent a blade straight into the brat’s shoulder, causing him to crumple onto the ground.  Lithuania went to him, shielding him from her deadly glare.  Ukraine was crying again.  Her sister didn’t like the violence that was happening in the house, happening around all of them.  Ukraine never called Belarus by the right name anyways.

That night when she retreated to her room and was about to undo the ribbon in her hair, a quiet knock stopped her.  “The door isn’t locked.”  She said coldly.  Lithuania stepped into the room, closing it quietly behind him.  He seemed so small in front of the wooden frame.  “Miss Belarus-”

She cut him off.  “You never knocked before.”

A faint smile appeared on his face, so insincere and bland when compared to the radiance he had given her in the past.  “Before is in the past, Miss Belarus.”

“Why are you here?”  She asked sharply.  She was in no mood to deal with the older nation.  “I just wanted to ask- whether or not I could go to the Eastern Bloc’s manor.”  He said.  His voice didn’t stutter or hesitate.

“You just want to go there and see Poland.”  She pointed out.

He smiled again, honestly.  “Yes, Miss Belarus.”

“No.”  She replied, equally as honest.  “I won’t allow you to go see him.  Do you understand why?”

He fell silent.  “No, Miss Belarus.”

She turned her back on him, hands reaching up for the ribbon in her hair again.  She could feel Lithuania right behind her, looking at her with those green eyes of his.  “Allow me.” he said.  She dropped her hands, then Lithuania’s own warm hands touched her scalp lightly as he pulled out the ribbon, letting her white hair down from its loose constraints.  

They were silent, the both of them, just silent breathing in the silent room.  She wondered when was the last time they had been like this, he coming into her room and preparing her for bed.  It seemed like centuries ago.  She broke through from the invisible cocoon stiffly and walked to the bathroom.  “You have finished what you have come for,” she said, back facing him, “You can lock the door behind you.”

“Yes, Miss Belarus,” he breathed, then he left, the door closing with an audible click.  She gripped the sides of the washing basin tightly, her hair falling down like a wave.  It was cold in here, she realised numbly, the washroom was not shielded from the snowflakes falling outside continuously.

The next day a letter came for her, specifically for her.  She burnt the letter angrily after reading it in the dining room, startling her sister.  Lithuania placed a steaming bowl of borscht in front of her.  “Is something the matter, Miss Belarus?”  he asked cautiously.  

Sitting down gracefully, she took a slight sip of the steaming hot meal, allowing the other members of the Union to drink their own bowl as well.  “Brother has specifically requested our presence in the Eastern Bloc.”  She said in a clipped tone.  “Our?”  Estonia questioned faintly.  “Lithuania and I.”  she amended.  Lithuania’s eyes lit up, and his mouth formed an inaudible gasp.  “Estonia, prepare horses for us.  We will leave tomorrow.”  she ordered.  Before she left, she punched Lithuania in the face, hard, feeling bone shattering under her rage.

* * *

It didn’t take long for the two of them to reach the new manor.  The dappled horses neighed pitifully under Lithuania’s soothing touch.  Hungary was there, by the door, awaiting them.  Her once long wavy hair was tied in a neat ponytail.  “Welcome,” she said quietly to the two, leading them into the manor.

The doors closed behind them with an ominous boom, but the interior was warm enough, exactly like the the manor they had when Soviet Union was still Russia, when she had first started living with him.  But then the Revolution started and his boss had them move into Moscow.  Moscow was a constant winter.  Hungary slowly ambled in front of them, leading them in front of one door among millions of others.  “Please enter.”  She said simply, then disappeared down another corridor.  She heard Lithuania take in a gasping breath next to her, as if he was suffocating.  She pushed open the door, and her brother was waiting for them.  “Bielorussia!” he cooed happily, stepping over Prussia’s prone body on the floor.  His red scarf was wound tightly around his neck.  The albino’s iron cross lay clutched in Soviet Union’s gloves.  She could hear Lithuania retching behind her, trembling.  “We have arrived, Brother.”  She did not spare Prussia a second glance.

“Why are you vomiting, Lithuania?”  Soviet Union purred, sliding past her to grasp Lithuania’s hair in his hands.  “Are you sick, Lithuania?  If you are, you shouldn’t have come.”  Lithuania gasped something through his bile, something she did not pay attention to.

“What are we here for, Brother?”  she asked, shifting her weight to another leg, “Has something gone wrong?”

“Nyet, little Bielorussia,” Soviet Union answered, “I merely wanted to grant Lithuania a chance to see the man who abandoned him to me, da?”

The three of them left the room, Lithuania throwing the quivering nation on the ground an empathetic look before following the two siblings quickly.  Soviet Union led them to another door, the same oak brown like the others, gleefully pushing it over with a bang.  The wallpaper was all white, faded white, snow white.  And there were strange patterns on the war, the colour of reddish-brown, as if callously splattered onto the wall.  There was no sequence to it, but it was everywhere.  A big streak, accompanied by little droplets; a trail snaking alongside the walls.  A casual splash on the white backdrop.  A lone figure lay on the snowy floor.  Blonde hair matted with brown, in clumps.  Lithuania collapsed onto the floor behind her.  The figure raised his head wearily.  Green eyes stared right into her violet orbs.

“Are you seeing this, little Lithuania?”  Soviet Union laughed.  “Look at the man who left you, now I am punishing him for you, little Lithuania!”  Lithuania couldn’t keep the heart wrenching sobs from spilling out of his mouth, causing a backhand from Soviet Union.  “Are you so thankful that you’re crying, Lithuania?”  Soviet Union laughed again.  “Come, little Bielorussia, let us leave them alone.  They need time to get...”  Soviet Union tilted his head to a side, contemplative, before he sneered out, “Acquainted.”  

And so she did, blindly following her brother out, back into that long corridor and that millions of dark oak doors smiling at her, mocking her, screaming at her, crying at her.

* * *

“Will you go on a date with me, Miss Belarus?”  

“Excuse me?”  She snarled, too incredulous to slap him.  “I... I just thought that you’d like to go to Czechoslovakia for a visit, Miss Belarus, seeing that it’s spring and all that.”  Lithuania said bravely.

“No.”  She snapped.  “Why?”

“I don’t consort with losers.”

His smile lessened.  “Do you consider me a loser, Bielarusi?”  He said somewhat bitterly.  His eyes widened and he quickly stepped back, apologizing profusely.  She looked at him, not in pity or in sadness, but in wonderment as to why he apologized.  She could not answer his question.

“Miss- Miss Belarus, then, will you go to Prague with me?”  he asked finally.  She stayed silent for a few minutes, feeling the time ticking against her throat.  “I suppose so.”  She finally ground out.  His smile was so dazzling that she blinked from its intensity, caught off guard.  He babbled something about setting off tomorrow and practically pranced away, causing her to throw a blade at his back.  It wedged itself in the wall, in which she cursed her insufficient practice for.

The next day, she sat at the sofa, waiting for a certain green-eyed brunette to come and whisk her away.  He never came.  Agitated, she flung open all the doors of the manor, but he wasn’t there.  She contemplated asking their neighbours about his whereabouts - they seem to have a better grasp of the manor then her brother at times.

Estonia and Latvia cowered under her and said something about a business trip.  Her anger dissolved, just to come back in full force.  How dare he!

It was a few days until Lithuania came back.  Spring was almost over, making way for another one to take his place.  Lithuania was the first to enter the manor.  He spotted her, and dashed over, again apologizing frantically.  She broke his hand.  Then she stalked up to her brother, who seemed a little unnerved by her display.  “What- what is it, little Bielorussia?”

“Marry me, brother,” she whispered at the bottom of her voice, barely audible for her brother to hear, “I’m a grown woman now, not your baby sister anymore.”

She turned back to Lithuania, who was still setting his bones straight.  “Come.”  She ordered.  Brows furrowed, he went to her, allowing her brother to slip away back to his room.  “I suppose we can still go now.”  His face lit up.

* * *

Spring never lasted.  It may last forever and mayhap summer would feel like spring as well - but soon it will also slip seamlessly into autumn, and then brewing into the winter chill.  “Get out!”  Soviet Union thundered, pushing Ukraine out of the room.  Tears rolled down her face, her chest heaving with every intake of breath.  Estonia caught her as she fell.  “What’s wrong, Miss Ukraine?”  

“Oh! Little Estonia! I just wanted to stitch up his red scarf!” Ukraine sobbed.  Just then, the doors opened again and Soviet Union stepped out, cheeks haggard and red with frostbite.  “Everyone-” he ordered, “Will now make way to the Eastern Bloc.  I will follow afterwards.”  She inclined her head quietly into his direction, and he locked himself in his room again.  “You heard brother,” she said frostily, “Now go.”

It was nostalgic, even, to be in the Eastern Bloc.  The setting was exactly like the old house, with doors filled with endless secrets and overwhelming comfort.  She hadn’t stayed long enough the last time to fully appreciate the architecture.  With a pang of regret she thought back of the stone cold house, with its secrets all unraveled in front of her.  She stumbled in her steps, and Lithuania’s hand was there to steady her.  She brushed it away.

When Hungary opened the door this time, her gaze was full of colour, full of defiance, even.  “Welcome,” she said tonelessly.  This time more nations were milling around in the corridor, though all bowed somewhat respectfully when they passed.  She stopped in the middle of the corridor, and all conversations stopped.  “Lithuania,” she said icily, “Take your brothers and go to where ever you have to.”  Everyone was staring at her, but Lithuania was not one to doubt her commands.  Collecting the other Baltics, he made a beeline for the door that they had visited the last time.  Hungary pursed her lips and gestured for her to keep walking.  Conversation flowed again, more cautiously, but this time she was able to hear them.  With the talk they were saying, she could have had the secret police right on them, and they knew it.

The next day, she went to Prussia’s room.  The albino lay slumped, on the floor, ignoring the bed in favour for the touch of reality under his fingers.  He glared at her when she came in.  “Continuing the work of your brother, huh?”  He questioned.  He coughed, spitting blood on the floor.  There were also reddish-brown patterns on the white wall, but the patterns were so consuming that it was everywhere, save the ceiling.  The white floor was completely dyed red.  “I merely wanted to talk.”  She answered.

He laughed then, a short barking laugh that wrenched at his larynx.  “Talk?  What the hell do we have to talk about?  Soon America will come and I can see West again!  Why the hell do I have to talk to you?  You can’t stop this, _Soviet Union_ , you can’t stop us from fighting for our freedom!”  He wretched then, all over his tattered and torn hands.  She moved to leave the room, caressing the door knob with her gloved hand.  “I will have Lithuania come and look at your wounds.”

The doors flew open, then, shocking her.  “Who’s going to come, da?”

“Bro-Brother?” she squeaked.  Soviet Union smiled down at her.  “Da, little Bielorussia, I’m here, and I am in need of a punching bag.  You will return to your room, da?”  Prussia laughed quietly behind her, and for that instant Soviet Union’s eyes flashed red, echoing Prussia’s own crimson orbs, the smile slipping from his face.  “T-tak.”  she was in a hurry to go.  She stumbled out, the door closing behind her with such force that she collapsed on the ground, unable to feel her legs.  Hungary was by her side in an instant.  “Miss Belarus!” she exclaimed, her expression one full of concern.  She shook her head violently, coughing empty air.  “Bring- bring me to my room, Hungary, please.” she pleaded.  She leaned into the older nation as she guided her to her room, reveling in the real warmth she felt from the other body, as her feet and head and mind seeped cold.

* * *

This imprisonment did not last long.  It was 1989, a year that made a stark imprint against her head, and it was winter.  Fate was a sick manipulator of life.  Soviet Union was nowhere to be seen, but Hungary was next to her, ashen grey, unable to fathom the existence of the unmoving body in front of her, an immortal drained of life.  Lithuania was crying, for his brother of blood, both sons of Aestii, a brother that he had loathed since the beginning of eternity but now this brother was dead.  She turned to gaze at the other Eastern Bloc members.  They stared back at her.  

Crimson eyes seemed to be crying, dried blood crusted in his eyelids.  She bent down and picked his iron cross up and slipped it into her coat, feeling its weight bearing down on her, the dried blood falling from it like snowflakes.  

Soviet Union made his appearance then, a twisted smile on his face.  “Let us go to the wall, da?”

It was already collapsing by the time they got there.  The borders had already been open for a few days now, the procession had already started.  People were clambering over rubble to reach strangers that they had never seen before, tearing down the stone like barbarians.  She saw them, then, four blondes and a blackette standing across the boundary, not reaching for the people of the other side, not rejoicing in reunion.  They must have saw the Soviet Union too, red scarves blotching the snow.

Germany looked much smaller than the last time she had seen him.  His blue eyes darted here and there through the crowd, as if expecting his brother to pop up somewhere like the devil.  She wondered if he knew what the unification had took from him.  The capitalists behind him did not make a sound.  Finally America spoke.  “Ivan!”  he called across.  She jerked back.  She had never known that her brother had taken a human name.  He had always forbade them from thinking of one.  “Where’s Gilbert?”  he demanded.  He laughed then, a sickening laugh, one that caused her to shiver involuntarily in her spot.  The Baltics took a step back from him.  He turned to Hungary, the only one of the Eastern Bloc that had come.  “Go on,” he said, jerking his head towards the other side of the wall.  “Go.”

Her eyes widened and she threw the red scarf down in a frenzy, starting to run towards her beloved.  She stopped the older nation.  Hungary turned her wild eyes towards her, as if challenging her.  Wordlessly, she retrieved the blood-caked cross from her pocket and pressed it into the brunette’s gloveless palms.  Tears spilled from Hungary’s eyes, but she quickly jerked away and ran.

They didn’t move until the sun went down, when the people had returned to their homes.  They had watched as Hungary embraced Austria, and had watched as Germany slid to the ground soundlessly, mourning for a brother of his in all but blood.  She looked back to her own brother, and wondered if he would cry for her if she died.

* * *

The Eastern Bloc all left, one by one.  She had expected it.  She had fervently wished that the Union could still stay together, but again, fate was cruel.  “I’m leaving, Miss Belarus,” he still wore that annoying smile on his face, dragging his luggage behind him.  “I have already told Mr Russia.”  

They were in her room, she was about to tie her hair up, and he hadn’t knocked before coming in.  The ribbon slipped to the cushioned floor.  “Why?”  She asked mechanically.  “You know why, Miss Belarus,” came the answer.

“I don’t.” She said.

“Bielarusi-” she bent down then to pick up the ribbon, her hands shaking.  “Bielarusi, I’ve raised you better than that.” his voice was shaking too, uncertain.

“Every single one of you is leaving me, isn’t it?”  She questioned, her bottom lip quivering, “You left me in the past and now you’re leaving me again.  What have I done wrong?”

“Bielarusi-”

She straightened up to face him.  “This is all my fault!  If I hadn’t followed brother away we wouldn’t even have had this conversation!  It’s my fault that I didn’t stop brother from hurting Prussia!”  Tears clouded her vision.  The past was a constant presence in her mind, eating at her brain, consuming it, bringing her down to the underpuppy she was.  “I’m useless,” she blurted out, “As a nation, as a sister, as a person - I never did anything right.  I’m just a burden.  Go on, say it, you hate me, and you’re just too polite to come see me before you leave.”

He crouched down, too, drawing her in a tight embrace.  “Bielarusi,” his voice sounded oddly serious in such close proximity, “I will never, ever, hate you.”

“Then what are you here for?” She screamed.  Without her noticing her blades were out, thrusting deep into Lithuania’s back.  But the other nation did not let go, and her efforts in pushing him away remained in vain.  “I will never hate you,” he said, “You will always be my Bielarusi, and always be my little sister.”  

Suddenly the warmth vanished and she looked up in alarm, as Lithuania stood up and handed her back her throwing blades.  “I gave it to you, Bielarusi,” he said, “I won’t ask for it back.”  Then he did that quirk of the his lips that she liked, and then he was gone.

She screamed, flinging her blades at the closed door, until Ukraine came and took her to her bosom, crooning to her.  She cried and cried and cried, and wished that she was back in that stone cold manor, in that room of hers with the shattered windows and the hard mattress.

It was the next spring until Lithuania declared independence from the Soviet Union, but he was long gone before that.

It was winter.

**Author's Note:**

> Submission for Hetalians-of-Earth: “Winter” contest on devart ages ago :3  
> Partnered with Cherriburossamu: :D
> 
> I’m sorry. This is over 7000 words long, and I’m still on a roll, but I didn’t really go into detail in the end. Thank god there’s no word limit, but I think the group admins will have half the mind to set a word limit for their next competition after they finish with this. I just love Bela-chan and Lithuania too much. I wanted to play around with the seasons, how winter represents bleakness but at the same time it is something so familiar to Bela-chan, and that many historical events that I referred to in fact really occurred in winter (actually, it’s interesting to know that many key events of WWII or the Cold War or even the interwar years, many of them happened around winter), while spring doesn’t necessarily mean happiness.
> 
> I also tried to use the literary approach with this fic, it’s so jampacked with allusions and references that if you want to know everything, I can annotate the whole thing for you. The most notable allusions that I tried was the concept of house/prison, borscht, of course, winter, Bela-chan’s ribbon, blood, so on so forth. Here, I incorporated some cannon events, such as Latvia and Belarus’ relationship, but most of them are my own creations, such as Belarus’ childhood, Prussia’s death (Why do I keep on killing him TWT) to the red scarves and many more. Some of you may have noticed that Lithuania called Bela-chan “sister” and Bela-chan seems to be slightly attached to him, when in canon he has a crush on her and she finds him absolutely despising. To me, because he raised her, he sees her as a little sister, so he genuinely only wants to spend time with her, not necessarily in a romantic relation. Or rather, he’s so easy-going that he’s completely fine if Bela-chan doesn’t love him back, but he hopes to have a place in her heart. Bela despises him because, according to canon, Russia favours Lithuania the most, but to me it’s just because Bela is a tsundere too, but not in the way England or Romano is, and she’s more tsuntsun than dere, if you get what I mean. But then, my Bela isn’t in love with Lithuania. She just misses him and he’s become this constant presence in her life, that she can’t imagine and doesn’t want to have a life without him, but that’s not love. That’s just... brother... complex...
> 
> With Bela-chan’s POV, I really wanted to show Bela’s own emotions, I wanted to decipher her character behind that slightly psychotic portrayal of her in most fanfics. I didn’t go deep in the whole “Russia-marry-me” thing she has - that’s not the main focus of this fic. Some may say my Bela as OOC, which I would somewhat agree to. In this fic, Bela’s own emotions and thoughts are the main point - but she’s deceiving her so often, trying to hide her emotions from herself and all the others. In many scenes I used Lithuania as a parallel to the real Bela, for example when Bela sees Prussia all tortured and stuff she wants to vomit too, like Lithuania did, except that she couldn’t do so in front of her brother (which brother I am talking about, you decide for yourself). Most times I used Lithuania as a mirror to Bela’s true feelings inside the facade that’s being portrayed in this fic. Ukraine, in fact, is a direct reflection of Bela-chan.
> 
> I love this baby, at the same time I’m not so satisfied about some parts of it... Anyways enough with my ranting, hope you guys like it :) Please give me comments!


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